


Fleeting Starlight

by MarsFlameSniper



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dancing, F/F, Persona 5: Dancing Star Night | Dancing in Starlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarsFlameSniper/pseuds/MarsFlameSniper
Summary: Makoto feels drawn to Haru, the way she moves, the way she dances. But she's not sure whether a second of happiness means more than a night of regret.
Relationships: Niijima Makoto/Okumura Haru
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	Fleeting Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> Back back back again with more of my gay P5 ships. Inspired by Dancing in Starlight this time because I finally got the game (I know, I'm late) and felt like the idea of everyone losing their memories at the end was too good to pass up for a plot. That, and Makoto really is a total dork when she dances.

“One two three four, two two three four, three two-”

Focused and steady, Makoto dipped and span her body, counting out a rhythm for herself while she danced. She'd been practising for what felt like hours now, sweat dripping from her forehead and into her eyes. She used a beat to swipe a palm across her face, before throwing her arm out, careful to make sure she didn't drive her elbow too hard into the manoeuvre. It was difficult to blend her body's natural instinct to move into aikido forms with the beat of the music, and she was certain her dances on the main stage had been far from graceful.

Nevertheless, she couldn't deny that despite her initial misgivings about the situation, and frequent awkwardness...she was having a lot of fun.

When a particularly clumsy step nearly resulted in her legs dropping into a split, Makoto paused in her count, deciding a break was in order. Her burning thighs agreed, and she flopped down onto the practice stage's floor, panting. Though her skin burned hot and her throat was parched, she tried to ignore her desire for a cool bottle of water.

“Feeling thirsty in a dream will get me nowhere after all.” She chuckled, raking her fingers through her hair. Despite the pounding of her heart and the way her chest rose and fell, Makoto knew that such actions, like her thirst after a gruelling workout, were her mind's attempts to insert waking logic into her dream.

She didn't need water, she didn't need air, she didn't need rest. The ache in her legs from her slip was merely a manufactured sensation and didn't reflect her physical state. Still, dream or no, it felt nice not to move for a moment, and her eyes slid shut as she recovered. Gloved hands picked absently at the neckline of her shirt, and she wafted it back and forth, the slight breeze cooling her skin.

It was surprising how much technique went into dancing. Not that she'd ever doubted as such, but it wasn't until Akira's twin wardens brought them here and thrust them onto the stage that she truly appreciated the fluidity of it. The closest thing she could liken it to was the motions between her aikido forms, that split second between stance and strike. They took on a life all their own. It was a little difficult for her mind to keep track of, and she was grateful for the support her friends had shown her as she'd taken her first ungainly steps in front of the crowd.

One girl, in particular, stuck out in her mind. Her support having a certain weight behind it that just meant....more.

“Haru...” she whispered, thinking of the way the other girl had noticed her frustration with learning the steps for her dances almost instantly and had offered to help.

“Don't try to mimic what I do,” she'd said. Not that Makoto _could,_ she'd had no idea that Haru was proficient in ballet. She was doing things with her legs that Makoto didn't think she'd ever be able to do.

“Instead, just watch the way I follow the rhythm. I don't think about what I need to do next. Rather, I just do what feels natural.”

So saying, she'd moved around the floor in a simple routine, and before long, Makoto had noticed that Haru seemed to let her limbs almost ride the music. It wasn't unlike the unique 'rhythms' of one of her spars, and thinking like that had made it much easier to get started. Even if Haru had giggled at the way her steps looked more like attacks, she'd still congratulated her on picking up the basics.

Makoto had blushed under the praise, waving her off, but she'd noticed that during her performances, though each of her friends shouted out words of encouragement from the sidelines, Haru's cheers always seemed to be that little bit louder than the others'.

She wasn't stupid. Or naïve, Makoto knew what a crush felt like. That warm little feeling that seemed to spread through her whenever she heard the other girl over the thud of the music, the way it seemed to fuel her until she was bursting with energy, launching into her steps with a gusto that her dance partners were hard-pressed to keep up with.

But...what to do with that?

Nothing would seem to be the logical answer. What was the point? Caroline and Justine had been very clear: their night-time escapades were a one-time-only deal, and none of them would remember a thing once they woke up. Much as Makoto wanted it, her feelings for Haru were destined to meet an end at the climax of their night.

And then her thoughts led where they always seemed to lead. To her rebellious side, the one she'd nurtured and expressed unashamedly for nearly a year now. The side that said who cares that she wouldn't remember? Wasn't it more important that she do something now and damn the consequences?

Really, it felt so impossible to choose. And like an old glove, the habit of simple neutrality fell over her. She wouldn't do anything because it was easier just to go along with it. Did falling into this mindset feel like a failure? Perhaps. But then, she wouldn't remember that, either.

Raggedly, she sighed and sat up, pushing herself to her feet and preparing to continue her practice. One thing she'd learned about dance was that, much like aikido, it was a wonderful way to work through her frustrations and lose herself in what needed to be done in the here and now.

“One two three four, _spin_ two three four, _kick_ two three four-”

She let every little bit of restlessness and upset flow forth into her moves and was on track for a productive session when suddenly the door to the practice room swung open, colliding with the wall with a _thud_ as a blur of orange and green dashed into the room.

“Makotooooooooo!” trilled Futaba, leaping up onto the stage, arms flailing.

Makoto staggered backwards, unused to seeing the girl quite so energetic off the dance-floor, and narrowly avoiding smacking her with a foot. The young hacker seemed not to notice that she'd nearly been kicked in the jaw, and grabbed onto Makoto's elbow, yanking her down and out through the open door. Babbling at a mile a minute, Makoto was just able to pick out the words _dance_ , _audience_ and _excited,_ before she was forced to dig her heels into the floor and pull Futaba to a stop.

“Slow down please,” she urged, ignoring her companion's sigh of frustration, “now, can you tell me what's going on? I assume someone is going to be performing soon.”

“Yeah,” Futaba said, rolling her eyes, “that's what I just said! Pay attention Makoto!”

Another yank on her arm, Futaba pulled them into a much more agreeable trot towards where the main performance area was.

“Well, who's performing? I lost that in whatever it was you said initially.”

Futaba shot her a look over her shoulder then said, matter of factly, “Haru's dancing this time.”

Ah.

Well then.

Makoto's legs near enough turned to jelly right then and there, the thoughts she'd been trying so desperately not to think rushing back to her mind. She stumbled, and Futaba pulled her along with a grunt, possibly unaware of the tempest of emotions she'd caused in the older girl.

It had been a little while since Haru had taken to the stage proper. Just long enough for Makoto to determine that her crush was staying for the long haul, and that really, Haru's legs had no business looking that good in the ball outfits the twins had thrown together for them. Now, with this ever-strengthening tide of affection she was feeling, Makoto wasn't entirely sure she was going to be able to make it through Haru's dance without doing something...drastic.

The thought was only compounded when they finally reached the stage (bafflingly, a recreation of Shujin's rooftop of all places) and she was finally able to lay eyes on Haru.

“Guhh,” she mumbled, the inelegant sound earning her another look from Futaba as she pulled her over to where Akira, Ann, Yusuke and Morgana were sat on the sidelines.

Ryuji was up on the stage with Haru, conversing with her and gesturing to his surroundings. It seemed he was to be Haru's partner for the duration, but that was unimportant right now as she took in the sight of Haru. Or rather, Haru's hair.

The reason for her dumbfoundedness was that Haru had gathered up her fluffy hair and pulled it into a short ponytail at the back of her head. Loose bits framed her face, but all Makoto could focus on was the pale nape of the other girl's neck. Visions of running her fingertips along the sliver of skin on show swam before her eyes, and she shook her head to dispel them, earning her a few concerned glances from her friends. She shrugged helplessly, sitting herself down and praying she wouldn't make any more of a spectacle.

It was fine. This was fine. She just hadn't expected the sudden change in appearance and was perfectly capable of controlling her emotions and not broadcasting her growing crush.

Clenching her fists at her sides, Makoto eyed Ryuji as he ambled off the stage and Haru took to the centre. She could do this.

And perhaps if Haru had then proceeded to stand like a statue for the next five minutes, it would have been fine. However.

She moved.

No, that was wrong. Makoto knew it was wrong as soon as she registered the action had taken place. Haru didn't simply move. She glided. She soared. She danced more gracefully than Makoto had ever seen anyone dance before.

She'd seen ballet performances once or twice. Some famous group from the other side of the world had a few shakily taken performance videos on the internet that Makoto had watched out of sheer boredom one day. Haru didn't dance like those people, their grace had been demanding and precise, yet not antithetical to their art form. It was easy to see why they were lauded as the best of the best. But had they captivated her? No.

Not in the way Haru captivated her now. She leapt across the stage like a swan in flight, kicked and crossed her legs as her arms mirrored the motions. She span a frankly dizzying amount of times, and Makoto was unsure how she possibly could have kept her balance after she'd finished. And through it all her face was serene, truly at peace with the actions of her body, Haru was letting herself feel rather than think.

Ryuji strutted out onto the stage before long, roaring his approval before he'd even begun himself, and for a moment, Makoto was worried that his brutal dancing would clash horribly with Haru's graceful steps, but in a strange turn of events, it only served to highlight her further. He never allowed himself to truly take centre stage, despite his whoops and hollers every time he passed by his partner, and though his pauses to simply squat down and watch Haru's footwork should have been distracting, Makoto felt they only amplified her own feelings of fascination for what she was watching.

A pang of regret shot through her. Haru had only once asked her to be her dance partner for a performance, and Makoto had shot her down near-instantly, certain that her clumsy dancing would only bring down Haru's performance. Of this, she was still sure, but as she watched the mismatched pair on stage complete their duet of motion, she wondered if it even mattered. Haru had drawn in and worked with Ryuji so effortlessly by her mere presence and perhaps the same could have been said for her.

As the dance drew to its climax, Makoto was aware of her friends around her, all of them cheering Haru on as she poured everything she had into the final moments of her performance. Once again, she span, arms tucked into her chest for an instant before being thrown out once again, and she moved in a loop of the stage. On her final revolution, Haru's eyes landed on the Thieves, and for a split second, time seemed to stop as their eyes met across the room. Barely a gasp had left her lips before Haru turned away, but all the same, Makoto felt tremors rocket through her body. Maybe it had been so brief that Makoto's eyes (and mind, and heart) were playing tricks on her, but it had seemed like Haru's gaze had reserved all the intensity meant for her steps. Just for her.

In a daze, Makoto barely registered the end of the dance, and it wasn't until a stray elbow from Yusuke knocked her to her senses that she even thought to stand up and clap. She had to have been seeing things, right? Surely that smouldering stare was just a figment of her imagination?

“God...” she said quietly, unable to shake the image from her mind, even as the applause died down and the others left. She remained standing, the single spectator to an empty room, her mind buzzing with thought as she swayed on her feet.

It wasn't a decision as such when she finally moved. The closest thing she could liken it to was instinct. She stepped towards the empty stage with no clear plan in mind other than to go in the direction she knew Haru had left the stage from. After that...unclear.

As luck would have it, the first room that Makoto tried, Haru's own personal room, was the correct choice. Haru was sat, pulling off her shoes, and looked up in surprise when Makoto stepped through the doorway.

“Ah, Makoto-chan!” she smiled, beckoning her inside, “how nice of you to visit. Tell me, did you like my performance?”

“Um...yes. I did,” Makoto said, what little drive that had caused her to move failing her now that she was actually face to face with Haru.

“It's why I'm here actually. I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed it. Because I did. Enjoy it.”

Desperately wishing she could sink through the floor, Makoto felt her face redden as Haru chuckled at her. Standing up and stretching her arms above her head, Makoto couldn't help but zero in on how supple her arms looked, and almost missed Haru's next question.

“What part would you say was your favourite? I always welcome critiques.”

“Ah...I'd have to say the um, spins that you did. After Ryuji left the stage. I don't know the technical terms, sorry.”

She pressed a finger to her chin in thought, “Hmmm...the pirouettes? Is that what you mean?”

“Maybe?” she said, “you just sort of turned your body as you moved around the stage.”

“Hmm, I think I know what you mean. But was there anything else that stood out to you about what I was doing? I'm not sure I know exactly.”

Suppressing a groan, Makoto shrugged, fiddling with the padlock on the choker she was wearing and looking anywhere but at the girl in front of her.

“I thought it was all very nice,” she managed, hearing rather than seeing Haru step closer to her.

“You liked it?” she asked.

“Very much.”

Makoto chanced a look upwards, surprised to see that Haru looked uncertain.

“I'm glad. I've been trying to come up with something I thought you might like...I suppose you could say I choreographed it to catch your eye.”

The final words were heavy with meaning, and Makoto knew then that the intensity of their eye contact hadn't been unintentional. Haru had wanted it.

“Haru I-” but she was silenced as Haru placed a single finger to her lips.

“I know it's silly Mako-chan. You don't have to tell me. I've been giving this a lot of thought and I know how it ends. Regardless of whether you accept or reject what it is I'd like to tell you, you and I will wake up and remember none of this. I suppose I just wanted to hope for something. It's been a very long time since I've truly hoped for something. For someone.”

Stepping back, she lowered her eyes, drawing her arms in front of herself. It was as if she was a different person to the figure Makoto had seen on stage, and she couldn't help but move forward, chasing that girl she'd seen on the stage.

“What if,” she started, hating the squeak in her voice, “what if I tell you that I've been thinking something very similar. That the fact that we won't remember any of this sometimes seems like it doesn't matter so much?”

Haru looked at her, eyes glimmering, but said nothing, and Makoto pressed on.

“I've been thinking about you so much. And I wonder if the regret I'd feel right now if I didn't say something would outweigh the sadness of knowing we only have tonight if I did.”

“Then,” Haru whispered, stepping close, “do you know whether you'll say anything at all?”

Silence enveloped them, a torrent of emotion raging through Makoto's mind. Say nothing? Live in regret comforted only by the fact that anything that may have occurred would have been impermanent at best? Or speak? Tell Haru that she burned at the very thought of her? That she'd been captivated since she'd first set foot on that dancefloor and never wanted the other girl to release the hold she'd begun to place on her heart?

Hesitantly, she opened her mouth.


End file.
